Just a Kid
by sparrowismyhummingbird
Summary: Little John Watson and Little Sherlock Holmes. (Occasional Little Mycroft, Little Molly, Little Lestrade, Little Anderson etc) Collection of Kid!lock oneshots. Open to requests! Any characters, any ages, any pairings. Requests do not have to be canon.
1. Courage

_**1. Courage**_

_**Hello! I would just like to introduce this series quickly. I am aware that the canon of John and Sherlock's age difference is roughly 4-5 years. But however, for the purpose of this series, I have changed that. At the beginning of each installment there is a note explaining how old Sherlock and John are in that particular oneshot. In some cases they are very far from canon! But thank you for accpeting the oddness and reading anyway! =)**_

_**Oh! And please don't try and link them to one another (the chapters, not John and Sherlock). Just take each oneshot seperately. If they link to each other, I will specify this as the beginning. Thank you!**_

_**Enjoy!**_

* * *

**_Sherlock aged 5_**  
**_John aged 6_**

* * *

'Nuh! Give it back, you weird little boy!'

'...It's mine now.'

'No it's not! I got it first therefore I am the rightful owner! Give. It. Back!' Sherlock lunged to snatch a corner of the blanket and yanked it towards himself. He was evidently stronger than the short, blonde-haired boy in the oversized cable-knit jumper, and he came hurtling towards him, colliding into the curly-haired 5 year-old and causing them both to crash to the floor.

'Gerroff me!' Sherlock protested and tried to roll out from under the shorter boy. But the blonde had him pinned with his fists clenched around the corners of the blanket that was between them. He'd pulled it taut, pressing into the ground either side of the wriggling dark-haired loudmouth, and it now successfully trapped Sherlock to the ground beneath him.  
John leaned forward slightly, challenging the boy with his own sapphire eyes pouring into the other's blue-greens, intently.

'We'll have to share then.' John said after a pause.

'Fine...' Sherlock grumbled but something about the blonde boy's eyes made him give in to him. 'But it's mostly mine.'

'Nope! It's _ours_. That's what sharing _means_.' Sherlock could tell the blonde boy didn't usually speak like this. He was usually the quiet type who went along with whatever everyone else was doing without complaint. But for some reason, sat atop the dark-haired boy, he'd found a small burst of courage. Enough to explain what sharing was and how to use it.

'...You're annoying...' Sherlock wriggled again but still remained pinned. 'Can you let me up now? I'm bored of this pinning game.'

'It's not a game.' John explained but starting getting up nonetheless.

'Well if it was,' Sherlock stood and twisted his shirt as if to readjust it. 'I would win.'

'What makes you the winner?' John almost whined, still clutching the blanket hard.

'This.' Sherlock reached and yanked it again, this time completely out of the shorter boy's grip. Before John could protest, Sherlock had whizzed away, letting the blanket fly behind him in a bright orange cape.


	2. Shy

_**2. Shy **_

* * *

_**Sherlock aged 6**_  
_**John aged 6-7**_

* * *

'Sherlock, be nice. This is John. You'll be his buddy for the day. Okay? Now, he's new so you can help him to settle in and make friends. Yes, Sherlock?'

Sherlock nodded, albeit a little reluctantly, at the school-lady. Why did she always talk in that pathetic whiny tone? It had grown quickly irritating even within the first few moments of meeting her last month.

Now there was another newbie. He was slightly older than Sherlock, and the dark-haired boy could tell they did not have the same personalities. Not at all.  
He looked over the boy, short, blonde-hair, blue eyes, roundish face, wearing an oversized cable-knit jumper and wringing a teddy's paw in his hands nervously.

'My name's Sherlock.' Sherlock said plainly.

'I'm John.'

'Yes, I know that. She told me.'

John went silent. Sherlock's bright eyes narrowed and he tried to make sense of the newbie's face.

'What's your last name?' He asked after a while.

'...Watson.' John mumbled quietly.

'John Watson.' Sherlock tested the name on his tongue and, deciding it fit, grabbed John's wrist and pulled. 'C'mon, I'll show you the soft corner.'

John stayed silent as he let the curly-haired boy pull him.

'Here. Those are the beanbags we can sit on and these are books and puzzles we can play with. Most of the books have been scribbled in and the puzzles have pieces missing, I don't play with either. They bore me too quickly. But you can play with them if you like.' Sherlock picked up a puzzle with dogs on it and thrust it in John's direction.

John looked up at the boy before taking the box and looking at it intently.

'Well? Aren't you going to say anything?' Sherlock quipped.

John frowned slightly up at Sherlock.

'...Do you not talk much all the time or is this a recent development?'

'What?' John asked. The strange, bright-eyed boy kept using long words and it confused him.

'How old are you?' Sherlock asked suddenly.

'Nearly 6.'

'I'm nearly 7.'

'Oh...'

'You're younger than me.'

John simply nodded and put the puzzle down on a small table with crayons on it.

'Are you always this shy?' Sherlock asked and frowned at the light-haired boy.

John nodded again, not really knowing what Sherlock meant.

'Aren't you going to ask me my name?'

John frowned. 'Why?'

'Well, a few minutes ago you told me yours. It's only natural for you to ask me the same. Go on. Ask me what my name is. I bet you can't guess it.'

'Sherlock.' John said simply.

'Well, yes. You heard the school-lady call me that. What about my last name?'

'What is your last name?'

'No, John Watson! Guess!'

John winced as the taller boy shouted and a few heads turned but no one else spoke. The blonde swallowed and looked back at Sherlock to find him staring down intently.

'Um...Smith?'

'Sherlock Smith? Hardly. Guess again.'

'I...I don't know any others.' John looked away and wrung his hands tighter around his teddy's arm.

'Holmes. Sherlock Holmes. There's an 'L' in it.' Sherlock said proudly. 'If you think it's weird then my brother's is weirder.'

John's eyebrows knotted into another tight little frown. 'What's that?'

'He's called Mycwoft. Myc-... Ugh. Mycwo... MyROFT! Mycroft.' Sherlock always struggled with his older brother's name.

'Mycroft Holmes.' John worked out. Sherlock flashed him a look of annoyance at his ease at pronouncing R's in the middle of words.

'Yes.'

'Oh.' John swallowed. 'That is weird.'

Silence fell between them again.

'Will you stop it?' Sherlock suddenly proclaimed and John jumped, startled.

'Stop what?' He asked, confused.

'Being so shy all the time! It's annoying.'

'Oh...sorry. But I...I don't know how to stop. I just am.' John defended himself with occasional stutters.

'Then I'll make it my job to stop it. Being shy is boring and dull. And I don't want my friend to be boring and dull.' Sherlock crossed his arms.

'I'm your...your friend?' John was shocked. He'd never been a friend before.

'Yes. You are. And think yourself lucky.' Sherlock looked at him. 'You're my only one.' He said before marching out of the soft corner and out of sight.

John nodded and twisted the teddy's arm in his fingers for the third time since meeting the strange Sherlock Holmes.


	3. Bumps and Bruises

_**3. Bumps and Bruises**_

* * *

_**Sherlock aged 5-6**_  
_**John aged 6-7**_

* * *

'Ow! John! Stop it! I told you it hurts! Stop prodding it, will you?' Sherlock hissed and barked at the short blonde.

John frowned curiously and poked it again.

'John!' Sherlock ripped his arm out of the blonde's grasp and stumbled back. 'Why did you do it again?'

John looked up at Sherlock, his blue-green eyes filled with hurt and shock. 'It's interesting. I like it.'

'It's a bruise...' Sherlock gave his friend a confused look. 'What's so interesting? They're boring, everyone gets them.'

'I've never seen one. Let me look again.' John reached out for Sherlock's arm but Sherlock stepped back again.

'Promise you won't poke it again?' Sherlock kept a hard stare on the blonde until he nodded.

Taking Sherlock's arm gently, John rolled up his sleeve again to look at the purple-green blemish on his skin. It was about the size of a raspberry and John brushed his fingers over it gently. Sherlock flinched.

'I didn't poke it.' John's eyes locked with the taller boys and he cocked his head in confusion. 'I didn't poke it. Why did you jump?'

'I...I didn't. Just...are you finished? Can I go now?' Sherlock took his arm away quickly and turned away from the blue-eyed blonde.

John remained puzzled. 'Thank you. For letting me look. My mummy says when I grow up, there's a thing called a Doctor that looks at people's bumps and bruises. I want to be a Doctor. I'd never seen a real-life bruise before. Well...not someone else's. Only my own. So...thank you for letting me look at it, Sherlock.' John wrung his hands around the bottom of his shirt while he spoke, every now and again he flicked his eyes up to look at the back of Sherlock's head to check he was still there.

After a pause, Sherlock replied but didn't turn round. 'It's fine. Just don't poke them...or brush them...next time.' John saw that Sherlock was running his finger over the bruise where he'd brushed it.

'Sorry, I didn't realise brushing them hurt too.' John bowed his head ashamedly. 'I promise I won't do that again.'

Sherlock nodded and pulled his sleeve back down before walking away without a word. Leaving a confused and slightly embarrassed John behind him.


	4. Doll

_**4. Doll**_

**_Note: Okay, I managed to upload this instead of revising for my Science exam...ehehe. Enjoy! _**

* * *

_**Sherlock aged 6-7**_  
_**John aged 7-8**_

* * *

'Why do you always do that?' John sat down beside Sherlock in the soft corner. The dark-haired boy had found an old doll and had pulled both arms off. He was currently in the middle of pulling the wiry hairs out and examining each one carefully.

'It's more interesting than just making them drink tea and eat cake.' Sherlock turned the doll upside-down and shook it a few times.

'But...that's Molly's. It's her favourite one. You know that because you saw her playing with it yesterday...' John looked up at Sherlock's profile. His eyes were fixed on the doll in deep concentration. 'Why did you take it?'

'She's not here today.' Sherlock muttered.

'But she'll be back! A-and she'll notice! Sherlock you have to fix it!' John reached to grab the doll but Sherlock whipped it away and out of his reach.

'Sherlock! Give it to me! I'll mend it for Molly!' John cried and lunged forward. 'Sherlock!' He wailed.

Sherlock stood and held the doll behind his back. He was a few inches taller than John, even at his young age, but John looked up at him with hard eyes. They were brimming with tears but none escaped.

'Give it to me, Sherlock. It will hurt her feelings and feelings shouldn't be hurt. You've broken her favourite doll!' John launched himself at the taller boy. They came crashing to the ground and Sherlock just managed to quickly pull his arm out from behind him before he landed with a dull thud. He dropped the doll to his side and John grabbed at it.

'John Watson! Sherlock Holmes! What do you two boys think you're doing? You know fighting is against the rules! Both of you stand up.' A shrill voice caused both boys to start. It was Miss Turner, standing with her hands on her hips. She was frowning and Sherlock grunted.

'Why were you fighting?' She crossed her arms.

John stepped forward and held the doll out to her. 'Sherlock was breaking Molly's doll and I was trying to stop him...' His voice was shaking and Sherlock looked at him. He had very quickly changed from the courage-filled angry John that he's seen just seconds ago. Now he was shaky and timid again. Like he was when they first met.

'Sherlock! Is this true?'

'Yes, Miss Turner. I was looking to see if the company has replica'd the doll's insides as well as out.' Sherlock paused. 'They haven't.'

'That's very bad, Sherlock. You know better than to break toys. And if it is Molly's favourite then I'll be expecting you to apologise to her when she gets back to school.' Miss Turner scowled at Sherlock and he tried hard not to roll his eyes. Predictable. 'Understood?'

'Yes.' Sherlock grumbled and slumped back into a beanbag.

Miss Turner took the doll from John before disappearing off into the staffroom again.

John turned back to Sherlock. The dark-haired boy was lying back across the beanbag and his eyes were closed.

That was the first time John wondered if there was more to the boy than he already knew.


	5. New

_**5. New **_

_****__**Note: Mrs Holmes and Mrs Watson are friends (or maybe colleagues) in this oneshot.**_

* * *

_**Sherlock aged 2-3**_  
_**John aged 10 months **_

* * *

'What doeth a baby look like?' Sherlock lisped as he looked up from his puzzle. His short, dark curls bounced with his movements and his bright glasz-coloured eyes shone with curiosity up his older brother.

'They're...new, Sherlock.' Mycroft Holmes said. He didn't want to confuse his younger brother by explaining what a baby really looked like.

'New?' Sherlock repeated and cocked his head to the side. 'What doeth new look like, Mycwoft?'

'New looks like...a baby, Sherlock.' Mycroft really had no other answer. He secretly hoped his brother would be content with 'New' but apparently not.

'Why ith everyone talking about a baby then, Mycwoft?' Sherlock still spoke to his brother but his attention was back on the puzzle.

'Because Mummy is seeing one today. Mrs Watson is coming with her new baby, Sherlock. She's coming to visit Mummy and she's bringing baby John with her.' Mycroft tried not to sound patronising, but it was hard trying to relay things to Sherlock in a way that his tiny, yet already-powerful mind could understand.  
It was hard, Sherlock being so intelligent so young. Whenever you wanted to tell him something, he would process it way too hard and often end up with headaches. Getting information into his tiny brain was like trying to shove butter through a wall of toffee. Incredibly hard.  
But with the right levels of information per sentence, and the right pauses between sentences; the little 2-year-old could process things a lot easier.

Mycroft found it very odd.

'Tho will I thee the baby, Mycwoft?' Sherlock fitted a piece of the puzzle, concentration setting his young face with a fixed look.

'Maybe, Sherlock.' Mycroft answered and closed his book. 'I hope so.'

-Later-

'Now Sherlock, be careful. This is John.' Viola Holmes slowly and gently lowered the tiny baby into Sherlock's small arms. He was sat in the middle of a sofa in one of the drawing rooms. He looked too small to be holding a baby, but the presence of John in his lap made him seem older than he was.  
Mrs Watson smiled gently as she watched John open his piercing sapphire eyes and study his new companion carefully.

'He'th looking at me, Mummy.' Sherlock's own eyes never left John's tiny form. 'Can he thee me?'

'Yes, he can, Sherlock. He can see you. Say hello.' Viola encouraged.

'Hello, Jawn.' Sherlock tested the new word on his tongue. Mrs Watson chuckled at his slight mis-pronunciation, but said nothing.  
At the sound of Sherlock's voice, John's sapphire irises locked with the unusual colour of Sherlock's. He gurgled, his mouth forming a perfect 'o' before it broke into a smile. One that shone through his eyes too.

'He'th thmiling at me! He'th thmiling!' Sherlock cried happily and he didn't know why, but the tiny smile from John made something in his tummy wriggle. He'd never met a baby before.

'He'th very new, ithn't he Mycwoft?' Sherlock reached and took one of John's tiny hands between his thumb and forefinger.

'Yes, Sherlock. He is very new.'

John's miniature fingers curled and locked around Sherlock's own as the baby let out another happy gurgle.

'Hello, new little Jawn.'


	6. Kiss

_**6. Kiss**_

_**Note: The more observant of the lot of you will notice that there's a significant change between something in the first half of this oneshot and the second. I wonder how many will spot it? You probably all will. I often forget I'm writing for Sherlockians! **_

* * *

_**Sherlock aged 4**_  
_**John aged 4-5**_

* * *

'Have you theen my Jawn?' Sherlock raced around the playgroup, crashing past toys and bumping into various toddling children as he went. 'Where'th Jawn? Have you theen my Jawn?'

'Sherlock! Sherlock! Whatever is the matter? You're making a right mess in my lovely playgroup hall!' The group-leader Mrs Hudson scurried around after Sherlock, picking up fallen toys and righting children that had been knocked over.

'Where'th my Jawn?' Sherlock wailed. 'Jawn! Where ith he?'

'John isn't here today, Sherlock. He's out with his Mummy. Do come and sit down dear, I'll get the puzzles out again shall I?'

'No!' Sherlock stamped his foot. 'I want my Jawn!' Tiny tears began gushing down Sherlock's rosy cheeks. He rubbed his eyes with fists and his bottom lip quivered, though he made no sound.

It had always worried Mrs Hudson, that Sherlock would cry completely silently. As if expecting no sympathy.

'Oh, Sherlock dear. Don't cry, my love!' Mrs Hudson rushed over and crouched to hold Sherlock by the shoulders. 'John will be back tomorrow!' She wiped a tear from his chin with her thumb. 'You'll be able to see John tomorrow, Sherlock. Come on. Come and sit down with a nice puzzle, eh? That'll cheer you up.'

Sherlock nodded slowly, his tears had stopped but he remained pouting and rubbing his eyes. He really wanted his John back.

_-The Next Morning-_

'Sherlock! Good morning! You look a lot happier today! Did you enjoy your-?' Sherlock completely ignored Mrs Hudson's greeting. He ran straight past her, not saying a word, a fixed look of determination set on his features.

He checked the cuddly toy area, the storytime corner, the little plastic house. But he couldn't find his John anywhere.  
He was about to give up when he saw a flash of red outside. Out in the garden, sat beside the sandpit, was his John. Still clad in his bright red coat.

'Jawn!' John turned his head and saw Sherlock racing towards him.

The dark-haired boy skidded to a halt in front of him and John grinned. Then, without a single word between them, Sherlock grabbed John by the shoulders and pulled him forward to bump his lips to his

'What was that?' John asked, shocked.

'I don't know. Mummy sometimes does it to my head when I haven't seen her for a long time.' Sherlock shrugged.

John was surprised. But he didn't wipe it away like he did when his mother kissed him. And Sherlock didn't even know why he'd done it. But both boys soon forgot about it when the sandpit caught their attention and a game of racing plastic crabs was afoot.

Mrs Hudson watched from the window into the kitchen as she prepared morning snacks of carrot sticks and cucumber wheels. She smiled at the boys in the garden. One little and blonde and the other little and brunette.


	7. Ladybird (Ladybug)

_**7. Ladybird (Ladybug) (for Moos (Guest))**_

_**Note: I just have it in my head that John and Sherlock attend this 'playgroup' type thing while their parents have to work. They both go to school, but this is a place to go while their parents are busy (or don't want them around =( ). **_

* * *

_**Sherlock aged 7**_  
_**John aged 6**_

* * *

John frowned at the little red bug on his jumper as it sat contently on his sleeve. It was little and tiny and John decided he would keep it.

'Mrs Hudson! Can I have a jar please?' He trotted back into the playgroup building and sought out Mrs Hudson in the book corner.

'Whatever do you want a jar for, John?' She asked and squinted at his sleeve as he pointed to his little red friend. 'Oh! I see. Hold on then, I'll go and fetch you one, poppet.' She quickly left and John looked down at the insect again. His little forehead creased into a frown as he counted just two black dots on the ladybird's wings.

'That means it's only two years old.' Came a voice from behind him and John turned. His eyes warming at the sight of his friend.

'Sherlock! Look! It's a ladybird. I'm keeping it. Mrs Hudson has just gone to get me a jar to put it in.' John beamed and thrust his arm out proudly to show the curly-haired 7 year old, hoping to impress him.

'It will die if you keep it, John. Don't be silly. Ladybirds don't live in jars.' Sherlock reached out and picked the ladybird up with his thumb and forefinger.

'Sherlock! Give it back! He's mine!'

'Don't be ridiculous, John. You can't tell if it's a boy or a girl. So don't call it a 'he'.' Sherlock spoke bossily and lifted the bug up to inspect it closer.

'Don't drop him! You'll hurt him, Sherlock!' John sounded genuinely worried. 'Please...give him back.'

Had it been anybody else, Sherlock would have probably kept the bug regardless and walked away with it. But the fact that it was John meant something else. And as Sherlock glanced sideways at him he saw the blonde boy's lip begin to quiver and his eyes tear up, never taking them from the red bug in Sherlock's fingers. Something made Sherlock give in and eventually he sighed and put the bug on John's shoulder.

'There.'

Now John didn't take his eyes off Sherlock. The dark-haired boy caught his glance and his stiff exterior melted a little.

'Thank you, Sherlock.'

'Ah! Here we are! One clean and empty jar!' Mrs Hudson finally arrived back with an empty sugar jar.

'No, Mrs Hudson. He will die if I keep him in a jar.' John's eyes stayed locked with Sherlock's. 'I think I'm going to let him go. Outside.' He said and Sherlock must have sensed his silent beckon, for as John left a stunned Mrs Hudson, Sherlock followed after, making sure to make a mental note of John's caring nature towards animals.


	8. Pushed

_**8. Pushed **_

_**Note: One that isn't centred around playgroup or school for a change! Mrs Holmes and Mrs Watson are friends in this one too. **_

* * *

_**Sherlock aged 5**_  
_**John aged 6-7 **_

* * *

'Push me higher, Mummy!' Sherlock shouted as his Mother pushed him on the swing. 'I want to be higher than John!'

'You can't. I'm higher.' John stuck his chin out proudly as his own mother pushed him also. Their swings were next to each other, allowing the boys to talk.

'Boys.' Mrs Watson warned. 'Don't start an argument.'

'We won't, Mummy. Sherlock just wants to be better than me at everything!' John resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at the younger boy.

'Not true! I _am_ better at you than everything!' Sherlock, unlike John, didn't resist the urge and stuck his little pink tongue out between his lips.

'No you are not!' John argued back.

'Boys.' Mrs Watson warned again. 'It doesn't matter.'

'Yes it does, Mrs Watson! Look! Push me higher, Mummy!' Sherlock shouted again and Viola Holmes rolled her eyes.

'Higher!' Sherlock demanded once more. 'I bet you can't do this, John!' Sherlock stood up in the swing and leaned forward slightly. John was about to remark something back when Sherlock suddenly tumbled forward, landing with a 'thud' on the hard tarmac.

'Sherlock!' John screamed and leaped from his swing, running to land harshly on his knees beside where Sherlock had landed. 'Sherlock, are you alright?'  
Panic took over John's voice and it wobbled slightly.

'Y-yes. My head just...hurts. But I'm f-fine.' Sherlock tried to get up.

'No, don't move! Mummy!' John ordered. By now, both mothers had rushed over and Mrs Holmes was trying to help Sherlock up.

'No! I'm fine. I can do it!' Sherlock brushed her away and stood himself.

John breathed a sigh of relief that Sherlock hadn't left an arm or a leg behind on the ground and rushed to hug his friend tightly, burying his head in his shoulder and clutching his fists tight in the back of his coat.

'I'm fine, John.' Sherlock said again and John smiled a little at that.

'Good.' He breathed slightly heavy from adrenaline and Sherlock laughed.

'I still went higher than you though, didn't I?' He grinned and John smiled.

'Yes, you did, Sherlock.'

'Told you so.' The dark-haired boy hugged back.


	9. Sulking on Staircases

**9. _Sulking on Staircases_**_** (for Cherlock123)**_

_**Note: Mystrade. I read somewhere that the age difference between these two is 6 years. (Mycroft younger than Greg) Whether this is true or not, I've no idea! I have changed it to fit this oneshot regardless. Enjoy!**_

_**Another Note: Do you know how hard it is to try and get inside a 6-7-year-old Mycroft Holmes brain? Sorry if this is really crap...but to be totally honest with you, it is the first Mystrade piece I've ever written. So jumping straight into childhood was a challenge in itself! Haha. **_

* * *

_**Greg aged 8**_

_**Mycroft aged 6-7**_

* * *

When Mycroft Holmes came plodding down the large staircase of the Holmes Manor, he was not expecting to see a strange little boy sat at the bottom step. Neither did he expect the little boy to be sulking with his head in his hands.

Now, any other day of the week, on any other morning, and it being any other little boy with his head in his hands sat on the bottom step of the staircase, and Mycroft would have just walked straight by and continued his business.

Except he didn't.

Something made him stop a few steps behind the boy and frown in thought.

'What are your reasons for sitting there in such a sulk?' Mycroft spoke after a short while.

The boy didn't jump in fright at the sudden voice, neither did he lift his head when he replied, 'My mother.'

'Your mother?' Mycroft repeated. Mummy didn't say she was having visitors this morning. 'Who is your mother?'

The boy turned around then although he stayed silent.

'Well?' Mycroft crossed his arms. 'Why are you staying silent now? You didn't a minute ago.'

The boy stood up, still facing Mycroft. Being on a lower step, he was shorter in height, but his eyes were somewhat challenging. 'I have the right to.'

'Remain silent?' Mycroft had to stop the smile forming on his lips. He paused, never breaking eye contact with the boy. 'Do you want to be a Policeman when you grow up, Gregory?'

Greg's face dropped in shock and he took one step back, or rather, _down_. 'How did you...how do you-?'

'Know your name? Your tag is sticking out of your shirt. I read it when you were sulking a moment ago. Not that hard to do.' Mycroft smiled then, a knowing smile.

'Yes. I do want to be a Policeman.' Greg said after a pause. 'And the reason my Mother put me here is because I was running around...when she told me not to. I was pretending to be chasing an enemy. And she said to stop...but I didn't.' He explained rather embarassedly.

'Don't be embarassed, Gregory. You have an imagination. Your mother is wrong for stopping you using it.'

Greg paused. 'How old _are_ you?'

'Nearly 7.' Mycroft responded, unfolding his arms and puffing out his chest a little. 'Why do you ask?'

'You're lying.' Greg narrowed his eyes. 'You speak too old to be just nearly seven.'

'That coming from an 8-year-old.' Mycroft quipped.

Greg didn't even ask the second time. He decided to just shrug. Obviously this boy was clever. Very clever. And he left it at that.

After a moment's silence, Mycroft held out his hand. 'I think the gardens are finished being tidied for the day. Care for a run, Gregory?' Something glinted in Mycroft's eyes that made Greg grin and he took the taller boy's hand eagerly.


	10. Detention

_**10. Detention (for Cherlock123)**_

_**Note: More of a teenlock. Mind you...it's not even 'lock' so...just...teen? **_

_**Another: This one I had no idea on the age gap. So just go with the flow I guess! Haha. And apologies if my descriptions of Seb aren't entirely accurate. Enjoy!**_

* * *

_**Jim aged 15**_

_**Sebastian aged 17**_

* * *

'Out! Now!' Mrs Simmonds harsh shrieks only made the grin on Jim Moriarty's face spread wider. He slalom-ed past the desks between his own and the door before turning to the rest of his class, saluting once with two fingers and sauntering out without a word.

Once outside the godforsaken Maths classroom, he chuckled to himself, shoving his hands in his trouser-pockets after loosening his tie a little. He strolled down the empty corridors, chewing lazily on gum, the floors shiny and squeaky underfoot. He was supposed to be heading to the Headmaster's office, but of course he was actually walking in the completely opposite direction.

After a few minutes of silent walking, Jim stopped. Ahead of him, at the other end of the corridor was a lone figure. He could make out it was a male, but not who it was. Jim squinted, still chewing and began to walk towards it. Had someone else had the same idea as him? If so, he had to meet this guy.

The figure was leaning against the lockers at the far end of the corridor. As Jim got closer, he could tell it was someone in the year above him, whom he'd never met.

He stopped just short of the figure. The stranger didn't turn his head to acknowledge his presence, he had headphones plugged in both ears and his eyes closed. His shirt was unbuttoned at the top and Jim could see his tie poking out of his trouser pocket. Jim loosened his own tie further with a roll of his shoulders.

The older boy's hair was sexily dishevelled and Jim swallowed, his own hair still slick back as he always had it. Only after he'd done it did he realised he'd swallowed his gum. It didn't stick in his throat, but he felt stupid for doing it.

He felt even more stupid when the stranger reached into his pocket, pulled out his own pack of gum and offered some to Jim, his eyes still closed.

Shit. He'd heard him swallow.

Jim hesitated but eventually took the pack of gum, pulled a piece out and then returned the pack to the still-open palm of the stranger. The younger boy put the gum between his teeth and bit down, never taking his eyes from the stranger. He wanted to ask his name, but decided against it. He assessed the boy, his eyes widening when he saw that the headphones weren't actually plugged into anything.

'Clever, huh? Such an easy way to fool those around into thinking that you're not listening.' The stranger spoke, his voice gravelled and rough. 'When really, you are.' He opened his eyes then, locking straight onto Jim's. A piercing blue. He lifted a hand and pulled the plugs out of his ears. 'You should try it.'

'Moran.' He held out a hand for Jim to shake.

'Moriarty.' Jim replied, taking the firm handshake.

'Nice to meet you, Moriarty.'

'Likewise.'


	11. Triangle

_**11. Triangle (for stardiva) Thanks for such a specific prompt choice! I hope I did the friendship triangle between these three justice! **_

_**Enjoy!**_

* * *

'I've told you before and I'll tell you again Henry Knight. Molly Hooper is mine. Not yours.' Jim Moriarty sneered at the smaller boy.

10 year old Henry stood stiff and determined, but slight fear shone in his eyes as Jim glared at him.

'Boys. P-please don't fight. I'm a silly thing to be fighting over, please don't.' Molly tried to come between them but their fixed glares remained.

'I've been friends with her longer than you, Jim. She's my best friend and you will not steal her from me!' Henry shouted and grabbed Molly's arm, pulling her towards him and stepping in front of her in an act of protection.

'You liar! Molly's been my best friend far longer than you Henry Knight! You're just a wimpy boy who's Dad is a nutter! Why would she want to be friends with you?' Jim shouted and smirked proudly.

Molly's lip began to quiver. She really hated raised voices.

'Well you're no better, Jim Moriarty!' Henry tried to come across as just as confident but he couldn't help the slight tone of fear in his voice. 'Why would she want to be friends with you? You kill everything! Even than ladybird she gave you yesterday! I saw you squish it when he wasn't looking!'

Molly gasped from behind Henry.

'Jim! Why did you squish it? That was a present! I even named it Jimmy!' Molly's eyes filled with tears and Henry held out his hand for her to take.

The school yard was eerily silent for a moment. Other children had come to watch the argument, enthusiastically munching on snacks and giggling with one another as they watched.

'Jim. If you don't treat Molly properly then you should not be her friend.' Henry spoke loudly. 'She is my best friend. And if you decide to be nice to people and not squish bugs, you can be our friend too. But at the moment Molly is staying with me.' He nodded once and took Molly's hand tightly before striding off towards the school building.

The kids around Jim began to laugh at him losing the fight. He watched with anger as Henry and Molly disappeared inside, his fists clenching.

'Fine, Henry Knight. If you won't give me my best friend back, I'll get her back myself.'


	12. Playdate

**12.**_** Playdate (for starrysummernights) **_

_**Note: So this didn't turn out so much as 'Playdate' more 'Let's have Sherlock show John something in his house' but I hope you enjoy it all the same!** _

* * *

_**Sherlock aged 9**_

_**John aged 10**_

_**Mycroft aged 14**_

* * *

This was the first time John had set foot inside the Holmes' house.

Well, you can say house, but you'd really mean estate.

It was huge. So big that John felt entirely insignificant standing before it as he and his Mother waited for the door to be answered.

'Ah! Mrs Watson, and little John! Welcome, do come in.' Estelle, the nanny, stepped aside with a warm smile to allow them inside.

'Mum, how does she know me?' John whispered up to his Mother as the stepped into the large foyer.

'Me and Mrs Holmes are good friends, John. I worked for her before I had you. That's why...'

The rest of his Mother's explanation was lost on John when he noticed what he was surrounded by.

A large, square hallway, pristine and shiny, the floors were darkwood and the walls were painted a deep red with patterns swirled in gold. There was a grand piano stood in the centre of the hallway, it sat to the side of the bottom of the stairs that wound up and round, disappearing above. John had never seen such a large room. There were many paintings and pictures of landscapes and nature all around him, hanging from the walls and giving the place character. It was absolutely nothing like their tiny corridor hallway at home. The only photo on their magnolia-painted walls was one of Harry's school ones, but she'd grown angry at it once or twice and scratched various people's faces out of it. Even her own.

'Come along, John.' Mrs Watson squeezed her son's hand and led him through into a different room, much to John's dismay.

The next room was what John worked out as the living room. Except something was very different.

'I think the hallway is the only place we've kept the same all these years. Everything else grew outdated and so we've modernized it a bit.' Mrs Holmes explained to John's mother as she rearranged a plant in the corner. John hadn't even noticed her arrival.

He frowned. Nothing about the living room was at all similar to the wondrous hallway. The floors were tiled white, the walls were white also, the sofas were a dark grey and enormously long with lime green cushions scattered along them. The walls held no paintings or photos, just a tv, a huge tv, that hung opposite the longest and largest sofa. As well as this, there was various indoor plants dotted around the place, and one whole wall was made of glass panels. John realised that it was actually a door that folded back, allowing access to the garden. He wondered why anyone would need to take out an entire wall just to put a door in it's place.

'Would you like a drink, Sue?' Mrs Holmes offered and her voice brought John back to the present.

'Tea would be wonderful, thank you, Viola. I've had a tough morning already! John's got this 'Career Day' thing at school coming up soon, he wants to go as a doctor, so I've had to find him a bloody doctor's coat and that took long enough. Then when we finally found one that fit, it had a huge stain on the sleeve so I've had to hotwash it repeatedly and it's only just come out! I've still got to iron it and lord help him if he gets anything down it!' Sue Watson laughed as she told her story.

'You should have said! Sherlock's got more than one white coat, you could have borrowed one of his, John.' Viola shouted through from walking into the ktichen to make tea.

John blushed at being the centre of conversation. He'd never met Sherlock's mother before. She seemed the type to judge quickly but keep it to herself.

'Say thank you, John.' Sue prompted.

John was about to respond with something about Mrs Holmes never actually _giving_ him a coat at all so what is there to thank her for? When a loud **BANG** sounded from right above them, followed by a shout of 'Arrgh, god!'

John went white. What was that?

'Oh, I told him to wait until later when you'd left. That boy will be the death of me.' Viola came back with two mugs of tea and put them on the table.

'What's he doing?' John asked innocently.

'I'm not actually entirely sure, John. Why don't you go and find out for me?' Viola encouraged and John resisted the urge to wrinkle his nose at her patronizing tone. He looked at his Mother for approval and she nodded once with a smile.

* * *

After making it back through the hallway and up the large staircase without too much distraction, John used the whereabouts of the living room to locate which bedroom was Sherlock's.

He knocked on the door quietly but no sound came from inside.

'Sherlock? It's me. Can I come in?' The blonde boy spoke to the closed door.

'Just enter anyway, John. He's probably too engrossed in acids to hear you.' Mycroft Holmes appeared out of another door and headed for the stairs. 'Is your mother here?'

John nodded.

'Is she talking to my mother?'

He nodded again.

'Do they have tea?'

John frowned in puzzlement but nodded again.

'And cake?'

John paused. 'I don't know. They might.'

Mycroft smiled. 'Thank you, John. As I said, just go in, he won't care.'

John swallowed and nodded for the last time before watching Sherlock's older brother descend the stairs. He'd only ever heard of Mycroft Holmes, and most of the stories were bad ones from Sherlock himself. John frowned in though, the oldest Holmes boy didn't _seem_ like a 'sadistic idiot'...

Just as John was about to push the door to Sherlock's room, it flung open and there stood the boy himself. His white coat was blackened on the shoulders, and sleeve-cuffs. His hair was dishevelled and messy and he had a large beaker of steaming..._something_...in his hand. The very tip of his nose was blackened too which made John stifle a laugh.

'John! Perfect, come here.' Sherlock exclaimed and pulled the blonde boy into his room. 'Hold this.' He gave him the steaming beaker and John grimaced, deciding to hold it at arm's length.

'Sherlock? What are you _doing_ in here?' John asked when he noticed the large desk in the centre of the room, covered in various bottles and beakers of vibrantly coloured liquids. Some were steaming, others bubbling and some were forming solids in the centre.

'Not much. I needed something to pass the time until you arrived.' He flashed John a grin and took the beaker from his hand, placing it on the desk with the others. John noticed the white (and slightly blackened) coat had now been removed and Sherlock was wearing a shirt and trousers.

'Why are you dressed like that?' John asked, pointing at his friend's formal attire.

'Like what? I wore this yesterday, it's nothing special. Come on, I've got something to show you.' Sherlock grabbed John's hand and pulled him in another direction. This time he led him to another door, still inside his room, that John had previously suspected was a bathroom. Now he wasn't so sure.

Pushing the air-tight door open and flicking on the lights, Sherlock revealed to John his 'not-bathroom-room'.

It was a giant fridge. In fact they'd literally stepped into a fridge. A meat locker.

'Er, Sherlock. Where are we? Why do you have a fridge in your room?' John asked, not failing to notice that Sherlock's hand was still intwined with his but choosing to say nothing about it, for a reason he didn't even know himself.

'It's my storage fridge, John. Look!' Sherlock pulled him over to a shelf that contained various sized, red lumps.

'Are they? Are these _hearts_, Sherlock?' John was shocked. He was looking at a real life heart. Several of them.

'Mhm.' Sherlock nodded. 'Two pigs, a cow, three rats and a human.'

'A _human_?' John let go of Sherlock's hand and stepped back. 'You have a _human_ _heart_ in here?'

'No, I was joking, that one's a cow too.' Sherlock didn't so much as chuckle, he just shrugged with an amused smirked and patted the sealed cow heart twice before stepping back and beaming proudly at John.

'So you wanted to show me your giant heart fridge?' John was confused.

'Yes. And no.' Sherlock grabbed John's hand once more and lead him, calmer this time, to another shelf on the fridge. It contained a smaller fridge and John grimaced in expectation of what he was about to see inside it.

'Don't tell me there are rotting brains or eyeballs or something in there...' He swallowed and Sherlock shook his head.

'Nope. Something much...tastier.' John felt his head grow fuzzy at the thought of Sherlock munching down on an animal organ. He reached to open the fridge when the dark-haired boy gestured for him to. His hand was shaking and it wasn't just out of the cold.

After a few seconds, John felt Sherlock guide his hand with his own and open the fridge for him. His whole body warmed at Sherlock's touch and he didn't understand why. How could he suddenly be warm? They were inside a fridge!

'There. And they're all yours.' Sherlock opened the door to the small fridge fully and John was about to close his eyes at the flash of something red that greeted him. Except once he'd realised just what that red was, he didn't want to look away.

'H-how did you know I liked jam?' John asked his friend who was smirking again.

'I just do.' The child genius boasted. 'And I made them myself.' He added.

John quickly retracted the hand that was reaching for the jars that sat in rows inside the fridge.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. 'Out of strawberries that Mother grows, John! I wouldn't make you eat body parts. Stupid!'

John chuckled nervously and then, realising what a complete idiot he was being, reached and took one of the cool jars into his hand. It was bright red and looked delicious.

'Thank you, Sherlock.' He spoke after a while.

'Don't.' Sherlock lifted a hand to stop the boy from thanking him. 'And I thought...if you, err, wanted to keep them...in this fridge. Then that's fine with me. And you can...err, come anytime when you...run out.' John was surprised at how Sherlock shuffled awkwardly. He was suddenly reminded that the dark-haired boy was a year younger than him. Being a genius can really obscure what age you seem.

John put the jar down and took Sherlock's hand again.

'I like that idea, Sherlock. And if you ever want to show me anymore...body parts,' John paused at the inclination of what that sounded like. 'You're...welcome to.' He finished, hoping that Sherlock hadn't picked up on how dirty that had sounded.

The dark-haired boy looked at John. A few seconds of silence fell between them before they both burst out laughing. John chose that light-hearted moment to lean across and peck the genius child on the lips, unsure of _why_ even after he'd done it.

'I'd like that, John.' Sherlock finally managed after he'd got over his laughter and the shock of the sudden kiss.

'Me too.' John nodded, smiling warmly.


	13. Curiosity

_**For the guest who asked if this was 'turning into a bloody Johnlock fic'. Not at all. In fact, it's not one fic. Its several little oneshots. Some will have different pairings, just like the Mystrade chapter, but it doesn't mean this set of oneshots is now Mystrade. Each separate one shot should be treated separately, so in light of your question, No. 'Just A Kid' is not a set of Johnlock children oneshots. But yes, the chapter in which you reviewed, Playdate, was in fact hinting at Johnlock.  
But not every oneshot is or will be.**_

**_I ask you all again to please regard each oneshot as its own story, they are not linked. Thank you!_**

**_Enjoy!_**

**_13. Curiosity (nicolive)_**

_**Note: I've no idea what it's like in other countries, but here in England we do dissect things in science. Only small things like flowers, frogs and eyeballs, but it does mean by the first year of secondary school we are given a scalpel to dissect with. Just for anyone who thought it weird that I'd given the kids scalpels! Haha I apologise for the short length!  
**_

* * *

_**Sherlock aged 12**_

_**Molly aged 12-13**_

* * *

"Sherlock! Stop it! Miss Layton only said the legs!" Molly cried peering through her fingers as Sherlock hacked a line down the frog's round little belly with his scalpel. His smile was one of both satisfaction and interest as he dissected the small amphibian. Molly's eyes held shock as the dark haired boy cut it up with such ease. She wasn't averse to dead animals, quite the opposite. She found them intriguing, each one had a different reason to be dead and she found their stories interesting.

"Calm down, Molly." Sherlock spoke from his position bent over the table to peer closer at the frog's innards. "I'm only experimenting, it's harmless. I wouldn't expect your fragile mind to cope with worrying over it. So don't." He continued, never looking up or standing straight. His eyes pierced the frog corpse and Molly scowled at the back of his head.

"Sherlock Holmes! Molly was right, I said legs only young man!" Miss Layton called over from her desk, peering over her glasses like an owl.

Sherlock simply rolled his eyes and stood back from the frog, passing the scalpel to Molly wordlessly, before stalking out of the room.

"Where do you think you're-?"

"Toilets! Care to join?" He threw a smirk and a sneer back at the shrieking Miss Layton, before swinging the classroom door open with a push of both hands, leaving a stunned Biology class behind him.

* * *

Molly Hooper tucked away her sandwich, half-eaten, when she saw Sherlock Holmes striding across the field towards a wooded area where all students were disallowed to enter. Her first instinct was to shout out a warning that he'd get detention, but instead, she stood up and quietly followed him.

By the time she reached where he'd stopped he was crouched by a bush, a scalpel in his hand (that he'd no doubt stolen from the Science Department) and was carefully dissecting what looked like a dead bird.

"I didn't kill it if that's what you think." He spoke without turning to acknowledge her. Molly fiddled with her hands, watching him.

"No I-…I didn't think that…" She trailed off. "Erm…Sherlock, I came to ask you…of a, err, a favour…i-if that's ok…?" She cleared her throat while waiting for an answer from the boy.

"Go ahead. Although I can't promise I'll do it."

"Y-yes, okay…um, I was wondering if you could…that is if you didn't mind, if you could err, show me…teach me about the dead animals?" She struggled.

Sherlock paused for a second, put his scalpel down beside the dead bird and slowly stood, turning to face the mousey-brown haired girl. She swallowed. His sea-green eyes were searching her face, flicking about like they always did when he was 'working you out'. She made sure to try to keep as much to herself as possible. The last thing she wanted was the boy to know every last detail about her personal life.

Of course, unbeknownst to her, he already did.

"Yes." Sherlock answered after a while. "I'll teach you."

Molly couldn't help the small smile that formed on her lips, "Thank you, Sherlock!"

"Hmm." Was all he replied before turning and crouching back down to the bird. "With me then."

Molly quickly crouched beside him and watched his every move, ears pinned to his every word.


	14. Valentine's

_**14. Valentine's (for starrysummernights) **_

* * *

_**Sherlock aged 11**_

_**John aged 12**_

_**Mycroft aged 15 **_

* * *

"Sherlock?" Mycroft entered his younger brother's room without knocking. "Your friend is here."

Sherlock rolled over onto his front and buried his face further into his pillow, he mumbled; "Tell them to go away, Mycroft."

"I doubt you'd like me to do that, Sherlock. It's John." The auburn-haired teenager knew that Sherlock already knew the identity of the friend. Of course he did, it was his only one. He studied a nail as he spoke, then breathed in sharply and folded his hands behind his back. "I'll tell him to come up, shall I?" He closed the door without another word, leaving Sherlock to grumble into his bedding.

A few minutes later, the door was creaking open again, hesitance and nervousness evident in his walking pattern. It was John.

"Sherlock? Mycroft told me you weren't feeling very well. Do you want me to leave these here for you?" John's gentle tone greatly contrasted with Mycroft's earlier uncaring one. Sherlock didn't move or speak.

"Um…" The blonde was unsure of how to continue. "My mum told me it's tradition…in Japan…to bring gifts to those you like on Valentine's Day. It's different there than it is in England." He paused, watching the dark haired boy breathing, wondering if he was even listening. "She said, even friends buy each other gifts…so um…I got you some sweets and I picked up that new sci-fi film you pointed out so I thought we could-"

"No!"

John physically jolted at Sherlock's sudden interruption.

There were a few seconds of uncomfortable silence before John frowned and spoke again.

"Like I said, I'll leave them here for you then. Let me know when you're feeling better." He paused before turning towards the door again. "And, you know, don't worry about getting me anything. I don't mind. It's not something I've really done before so it's ok-"

"No, no, no, no! Stop talking!" Sherlock interrupted again, rolling over onto his back and throwing an arm over his face.

John let out a huff of annoyance, clenching his hands into fists at his sides.

"Look, are you really not well? Or is this just a sulk about something?" Even the blonde wasn't sure where this new confidence had suddenly appeared from. "Cause if all you want is someone to feel bad for you because you're in a mood then I can just take my gifts back, Sherlock."

There was another beat of silence before Sherlock grumbled quietly, "I said…" his voice rose and he shot up, sitting upright in the bed and staring straight at John. "Stop talking!"

John huffed again, stared at Sherlock for a second, then nodded once and turned to leave.

"I-…"

Sherlock's calmer continuation caused John to pause in his movements.

"I didn't say…leave." The dark-haired boy mumbled, as if embarrassed, and John smiled a little.

"So you do want me to stay?" He turned back, amusement glinting in his eyes.

Sherlock was avoiding John's eyes, his fists clenched in the duvet around him. He nodded briefly.

John grinned, moving back over to Sherlock and picking up the sweets as he went. He plonked down on the bed beside the boy and ripped open the bag.

"We don't have to watch the film if you don't want to…I can't really remember if it's even the right one. I was hoping you'd-"

Sherlock interrupted John yet again that afternoon, but this time it was without words. John blinked as Sherlock's arms wrapped themselves tightly around his shoulders, his movements of opening the sweets paused.

"I'm…sorry, John. I'm not good with…" Sherlock trailed off, hoping John would know what he meant. John smiled. He did.

"It's okay, Sherlock. I know. You don't have to say the words either."

Sherlock frowned, obviously John was assuming he knew what 'the words' were. Wrongly assuming.

"So I won't either. Instead, I'll just say…" He paused before lifting the bag up to Sherlock's eye level. "Jelly bean?"


End file.
